


The Crystal Worker drabbles

by Psykhes_madness



Series: The Crystal Worker [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Post-War, Rebuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:41:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 19,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4455257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psykhes_madness/pseuds/Psykhes_madness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A.U. after the war that follows Prowl as he rebuilds his life in New Praxus.  Here, Prowl is a crystal artist and part-time Enforcer for a town of a hundred mecha and Jazz opens a studio space a few months after.  It mostly follows their relationship from animosity to platonic to intimate.  I'm beginning with 50 sentence drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prowl's musings.

Nice- It was a very nice place, perfectly situated between the husks of two large buildings.

Tap- Prowl tapped the crystal with one gentle digit, smiling at the soft chime it made.

Roses- Humans had roses, Praxians had crystals.

Gagged- Prowl shot up from his berth, vents heaving, the feeling of being gagged still tingling across his derma plating.

Noisy- Few mecha in New Praxus were as noisy as Jazz.

Cat- Prowl was still the only mecha on Cybertron who could sense Jazz when the ex-saboteur was feeling particularly cat-like.

Blunder- Such a blunder could cost a mech a fortune; luckily Prowl caught it in time to heal the crystal and present it to the Prime on the anniversary of the wars-end.

Cough- Prowl’s cool gold optics slid over white and black plating as Jazz’s vents gave another cough.

Tender- Gentle digits drifted tenderly over the deep blue stripe on Jazz’s hood, staying for a moment over the spark plating before moving on as his vents shuddered with another cough.

Kickass- Few mecha, former Enforcers and comrades alike, ever described Prowl in such human terms as ‘kickass’. 

Serious- He bent over his workstation, digits steady as he carved a tiny incision into the blue crystal in his servos, faceplates settled into a pensive frown.

Neglect- He was passed the days of neglecting himself for the cause; now his plating gleaned in the sunlight, his optics were bright and healthy, his wings were moving freely, and his tanks were full.

Sway(ing)- Swaying was a natural state of being for Jazz, Prowl decided, watching the other mech absentmindedly dance to festival music.

Comedian- There was no getting around it; while no comedian, Prowl’s dry humor left the residents of New Praxus in stitches on the floor.

Shadow Boxing- He stayed hidden, content for the moment to watch the other train, shadow boxing in the decaying theater.

Incredible- Crystals were hard to grow into incredible works of art.

Mundane- Life was mundane now; sipping ener-tea in the morning, carving crystal in the noon, and reading thrilling adventure stories in the evening.

Guide- Gently, he guided the helm-strong Polyhexian through the more delicate workings of crystal carving.  
Submerge- Sighing, Prowl twitched his panels in relish as he submerged in the warm oil.

Sidekick- The human’s had such strange terms for friends; especially when using them to describe his rocky relationship with Jazz.

Hip- Jazz studio was raucous, bright, and lively; just the sort of ‘hip’ place he had always imagined.

Collared- Prowl sensed a rather brief flare of satisfaction as he collared the speedster, his old Enforcer programing humming contentedly in the back of his meta.

Wallet- For the first time in his new functioning; Prowl had to dig around in his proverbial ‘wallet’, his subspace suspiciously bare of all credits.

Roll- For once, he just rolled with it, Jazz’s colorful insights and opinions being true.

Hands- Death would no longer come from these ‘hands’, he vowed, clenching his servos around the tiny growth of new crystal.

Jacket- The new position of Cybertron around it’s young star helped control the acid rain but every once in a while, Prowl wished he had brought his protective ‘jacket’ with him.

Global warfare- Strategy games aside, Prowl frowned at the display for a new M.M.O in the local shop, Global Warfare.

Crazy- He must have been crazy, to give up everything in Metroplex and settle in this barren strip of nothing just outside the ruins of Praxus.

Indulgent- The party was not the loud, extravagant affairs of the ARK and for that Prowl was glad of it as he sent an indulgent smile in Jazz’s direction.

Party- He had a far different party in mind for Jazz when he came over the next day.

Cry- Crying was a weakness one could not have in war and he was glad he could now cry with joy over the wonderful news that Bluestreak was bonding.

Pound of Flesh- Money was not the reason he did this; though he could have demanded his pound of flesh from the new government at any time.

Punch- Old habits died hard, he mused, dodging the punch Jazz aimed his way.

Absorb- He stilled in the doorway, door wings flared up to absorb the sweet vibrations of the crystal harp Jazz strummed absently.

Stiff- Jazz went stiff as a board as Prowl lightly brushed up against him, trailing an hidden servo over warm plating.

Contract- It was all written in their contract, a simple business transaction, and Prowl turned his battle computer over to how long it could take for him to break it and move their relationship in a more personal direction.

Stumbling- It was often that Jazz stumbled but when he did, many began to notice that Prowl was often nearby and would catch him with a teasing word or two.

Encounter- Their first encounter had not gone well; they had been hostile and stiff.

Temple- It was the first permanent building that had gone up in New Praxus; not just a Temple to Primus, but a temple to all that needed peace.

Patio- After reinforcing the building and beginning his garden, Prowl focused on a covered patio so he could work surrounded by beauty.

Candlelight- Months after their first disastrous meeting, Prowl invited Jazz over for a platonic dinner, even if he placed tinted crystal around for ‘candlelight.’

Stripes- Jazz was all stripes; crimson red and deep blue that twisted over stripes of black and white, light and dark chasing each other over elegant form.

Foul- Immediately, Prowl knew Jazz had messed up the ratio of energon to minerals…he could smell the foul stench even across the city.

Hurdle- The last hurdle had been crossed when Jazz tentatively accepted Prowl’s chaste kiss to his servo.

Chances- Few mecha received a second chance in their lives, so it was with great pleasure and no small amount of fear that Prowl dove into this second chance to win Jazz’s trust with a gusto he rarely displayed.

Forgetten- “Ain’t ya forgetten’ somethin’, Prowl?” Prowl turned with a raised brow plate and crossed to Jazz’s side. “Never” He whispered with a gentle kiss to the sensor horn.

Unforgivable- Somethings were unforgivable and Prowl was never going to forget that, especially when it came to Starscream.

Sinking- It was a frightening feeling, that sinking sensation Prowl got whenever Jazz glanced with a flare of bright blue and smiled at him.

Deal- It all started with that deal; lesson in crystal carving for a space in Jazz’s studio and Prowl would never regret it.

Friendship- Once the initial dislike had been overcome, their friendship settled enough that Prowl invited Jazz into his work shop.


	2. Jazz's Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz's 50 sentences. Jazz opens a small art studio where he dances, paints, plays music and makes musical instruments. He's inspired by a guy who owns a studio next door to the comic book store I go to and he does the exact same thing.

Kinship- Jazz didn’t feel the same kinship for his fellow Polyhexian survivors.

Swallow- It was hard to swallow; Starscream, leader of Cybertron and Megatron, newly minted Autobot.

Escape- The need to escape Metroplex and Iacon became a clawing burning desire and the very next day, Jazz handed in his resignation and tore off his brand.

Let’s go- He stood on the edge of Metroplex, visor narrowed to a pin-prick of blue light as the star rose then he tumbled over the edge with a laugh and hollered “Let’s go!” into the early morning.

Roof- The walls creaked, the floor groaned, and the roof leaked; Jazz bought it anyway.

Indecent- He didn’t care; he was probably indecent, high grade sloshing and armor askew.

Position- He was now in the unique position of being…well, unnoticed.

Planned attack- Jazz rather hated those words even as the engineer gleefully uttered ‘planned attack’ as he outlined the new building permits.

Mirrored ceiling- Nothing was so tacky as the new mirrored ceiling in New Praxus only boarding station.

Twinkie- Jazz blinked in surprise and wondered, who on Cybertron reinvented the human ‘Twinkie’ out of gelled energon and baked iron?

Tradesman- Jazz set off the a hum and a bounce in his step, anxious to met the famed and only tradesman in New Praxus.

Interruption from Hell- The light strings on his holo-guitar twanged unpleasantly as Jazz glanced up, classifying this the ‘Interruption from Hell’.

Puppy-eyes- No few mechs had ever tried the ‘puppy-eyes’ on him.

Anger- The emotion that threatened to bubble to the surface had the flavor of anger but Jazz smiled a sharks smile anyway.

Teddie- Jazz smiled softly as he tucked the tiny worn Teddy into a corner of the shelf, safe from harm yet easy to see.

Cuddle- Jazz would never admit it but once the knives and guns where tucked away, he loved to cuddle and be close to someone.

I wish- Stupid empty words meant nothing but Jazz paused on the old roof of his studio and looked straight up, idly wishing on a star.

Lovin’- His frame twisted and spun, begging for anyone in the club for ‘lovin’ yet even he was surprised by who answered.  
Examine- Old habits died hard as Jazz paused the critically examine the box on his front door, the elegant scrawl achingly familiar.

Travel- Those who wished to live outside of Iacon and endless bickering there had to travel quiet a ways but Jazz went further still, finally settling in New Praxus.

Starry nights- As their relationship grew, Jazz often found himself enjoying looking up at starry night skies from Prowl’s back patio.

Whipped- That was not supposed to explode, Jazz mused, wiping the brunt whipped energon cream from his visor and dumping the mixing bowl down the drain.

Sensual- He had never considered Prowl’s regard to be anything other that stern but there was something almost sensual in Prowl’s stare tonight.

Pole-Dancing- He fell out of his chair laughing when some pour sap brought in a pole and tried to hire dancers for it; Prowl immediately banned the thing and had the unfortunate soul hauled off.

Twinkle- There! There was the mischievous twinkle in Prowl’s optics that Jazz had only seen once before and it was gone before he could comment on it.

Pandora’s Box- The lid had been tightly clamped for orns until Prowl made the unexpected move of kissing Jazz before he left his home and it was like opening ‘Pandora’s Box’ as the two fell on Prow’s berth.

Idea(s)- Jazz cursed whatever bright idea he had to carve a crystal flute as he left a rather triumphant Prowl in his workshop.

Pursued- Who knew being pursued by an ex-tactical chief could be so thrilling when he wasn’t even doing anything illegal?

Stalker- Jazz knew he was there and it took all his self control to not let his combat training take down his little stalker.

Cake (piece of cake)- “Piece of cake.” Jazz muttered to himself as he poured the minerals into the energon bath of crystal and promptly gagged when a cloud of noxious gasses boiled out.

Anal- There were few things in his functioning that Jazz was truly anal about and his new studio set up was one of them.

Whipped cream- It was supposed to have been a victory party of one in his new home but Jazz sighed as the whipped silver cream he was making blew up in his face plates for the third time.

Spank(ing)- He sighed in relief as the spoiled sparkling received its well deserved spanking from his carrier for throwing Jazz’s hand made titanium violin bow around.

Methol- Oddly enough, it’s a Earth wood spirit, methol, that grows the perfect crystals for flutes.

Big mighty weapon- Talk often involves a humorous recollection of the various big, mighty weapons Megatron was so fond of attempting to use.

Hazard- Jazz decided that Prowl in a flirty mood was a hazard to his well being.

Easy- The easy part was done; the building was remodeled, the roof was finished, and the walls didn’t have holes in them anymore.

Treasure- Jazz crossed his arms over his chest plate and leaned back against the wall, optics focused across the room and simply treasured Prowl’s soft indulgent smile.

Adventure- There was no greater adventure than getting up in the morning, drinking a cube of clean energon and waltzing across town to go harass the resident Enforcer.

Conceit- Jazz was all to ready to wipe the conceited grin off of Starscream’s face with his fist.

Ghosts- Leaving Iacon behind was like finally being free from the ghosts of the war.

Fire- He danced with a fire in his spark, burning and twisting in an effort to be free.

Rat(s)- They fled like rats off a sinking ship, vent heaving and tires screeching across broken roads, trying to outrun each other.

Hiding- Once he realized it, Jazz accused the former tactician of hiding in plain sight, like a coward to which Prowl cooly responded back that so was he.

Contaminate- He was gonna do it, he was gonna contaminate the whole damn town with color and sound.

Hair- He was a hairs breath away from punching the smirking bastard in the face.

French- When Jazz wanted to piss Prowl off, he would start mouthing off in another language and it was French that finally made Prowl snap.

Battle- Jazz sat up with a start, digits clenched around his light dagger, processor full of old battles and long dead enemies.

Compact- The compact between the Decepticons and Autobots sent Prowl into a rage and Jazz just listened to the vid-screen with a disgusted snort. 

Relationship- Theirs was a rocky, tumultuous relationship at first but both had begun to trust the bright little flame between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 50 work sentence challenge #2 by Challenge Maker. Jazz's didn't turn out as strong as Prowl's.


	3. Meeting the Vender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will be more challenges but written as a longer piece. Instead of a single sentence, sometimes it'll be a paragraph to a chapter in length. The chapter title will contain the word. Hopefully I'll get enough of these done to string into a story. Critiques are welcome and I hope you enjoy these.

It was about mid morning when Jazz carefully set his empty cube down on the table and stood with a stretch. Cables and wires were pulled taut then released to lay in place. Jazz rolled his helm, light glancing off his visor as he popped his neck gyros.  
The Polyhexian moved through his studio, trailing digits over the shelves that displayed his art as he made his way toward the front. He locked the door with a jaunty whistle and stepped into the newly painted transforming lane, whistle turning into a full tune that pounded from his speakers as he shifted from mech to vehicle form. He peeled out of the lane, laughing as another early riser gave him a sour look as he passed him.  
He wove through the streets, blinking his lights cheerfully at any who waved at him before he came to his destination. It was a simple one story building with and open section underneath a board canopy and walls stretching out on either side. The cracks and holes had been carefully filled in and painted over. There were some crystals scattered about on the free standing case facing outward but nothing anyone would want to steal. Further back was a simple table and a variety of chairs for many different frame types. Jazz lowered the volume on his speakers and carefully stepped up to the table, hidden optics darting around. There was a single doorway that led deeper into the building, probably for storage and living space. New Praxus wasn’t big enough to have residential and commercial districts yet.

“ ‘ello?” He called, cocking his hip and leaning one servo against it, keeping his other pressed flat on the table as he waited for the crystal vendor. There was a slight noise, a shuffle, and then, “I’ll be right there.” Muffled but distinct.

Jazz’s optics roamed over the shelves with their carefully display crystal samples, noting that all of them were flawed enough to bring a thief nothing but trouble should anyone attempt to steal them. That meant the owner was no fool and this space was for display purposes only. Any real work was done further back within the building and likely properly guarded. His opinion of the unseen owner went up a few notches.

“No.” Startled Jazz’s optics snapped back toward the doorway, spark skipping as he realized he hadn’t heard the mech coming, cursing himself for being that out of it.

Prowl stood there, panels taut behind him and reared up in a threat display, gold optics blazing but face perfectly smooth of any other reaction. In his servos was a flat rectangular box and in it were a dozen or so crystal points of various colors. 

Half a dozen combat programs tried to come online but Jazz slowly shut them all down, servo making an abortive twitch toward the light dagger he kept sheath in a thigh compartment. Prowl’s optics followed the movement and he gave an inelegant snort.  
“Don’t even consider it. I’m not stupid enough to attack you.” He set the tray down on the table.  
“You the crystal vender?”  
“Get out. I’m not going back. Whatever hole they let Starscream dig, they can figure a way out themselves.” Prowl snarled.  
“What crawle’ up ya tail pipe n’ died?”  
“I’m not asking you again, leave. Or I will throw you out.”  
“Oh yeah? Under what jurisdiction?” Jazz threw himself into a chair and sprawled in it, raising an hidden brow-plate at Prowl’s sudden tight smile.  
“Under the jurisdiction of the Chief Enforcer of New Praxus.”  
“Bull shit.” Jazz stared. Prowl’s chuckle was just a bit on the nasty side.  
“You may have my credentials, if you wish.” A com line opened and he all but shoved a flash file over. Jazz winced as he scanned and ran it through a dozen anti-virus programs before opening it and committing it to memory.  
“Well, that’s just perfect. Ah ain’t apart of no army no more so get that stick outta ya aft. Ah’m here on business.”  
“You just stated you weren’t apart of the army anymore, what business could you possibly…” Prowl snorted.  
“Ah opened up a shop here ‘n Ah’m makin’ instruments.” Jazz interrupted, the light behind his visor narrowing in warning. “Ah need some striated crystal tah make a flute. 

Prowl said nothing for a long moment, his optics narrowed as well, gaze somewhere between assessing and fury. Jazz ignored the urge to shift in his seat when a single wing flicked and the uneasy silence was broken.  
“Very well.” Prowl straightened and sat down in a seat that was clearly designed for him, pulling out a familiar data pad and stylus. Jazz blinked at the sudden turn and sat a bit straighter, grin spreading across his faceplates at the easy win. Until he caught the look on Prowl’s faceplates and cursed himself.  
“A striated crystal for a flute, you say? That won’t be easy. Nor cheap.” 

Jazz hissed under his breath as he left the shop, joors later. Prowl stood in the doorway, a triumphant glint in his optics as he watched the former saboteur stomp into the t-lane then peel out. He idly thought about chasing after him but decided against it. He had battered the mech’s pride enough for one orn. He nodded to the crowd that had gathered outside his shop. The negotiating had been spectacular and reminiscent of their days as comrades. It only reiterated how well they had worked together in the past but Prowl was glad to have won this round. Turning back to his shop, the crystal vender put away his data-pad order and began to review his notes on striated crystals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 50 word sentence challenge by Challenge Maker.


	4. To cherish.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories and idle thoughts. Prowl remembers the day he didn't have to be an officer as he begins to plant his crystal garden.

Prowl had learned a long time ago to cherish the simple things that made functioning during wartime easier to handle. Orn in and orn out handling of battle plans, strategy meetings, and endless paper work had almost driven him insane. Despite what everyone thought, his quarters had not been a barren husk. He had filled it with crystals he had collected from around Cybertron and later, different outposts scattered across the universe. A simple stereo system had been installed so he could listen to either music or audio books as he worked and pieces of art had adorned the walls. His berth had a rich woven blanket in vibrant greens strewn across it. His few merger possessions had all had a story to tell.

And they had all fit into his subspace and a simple box when he left the Autobots. He was glad of it though. He hated carting things around. The Enforcer now stood in his newly rebuilt home and carefully arranged his possessions the way he liked them. The stereo went into a corner of his workspace with his small selection of chips in a box on top. His paintings went up on the walls within a joor and he stood back to admire them. He spread the green blanket across his new berth. Lastly, he took the crystals he had gathered over the vorns and went outside. The space behind the building was framed by walls that had withstood the bombings. The Praxian spent the better part of a vorn clearing out the rubble and adding shaved minerals and chemicals to the ground, letting everything mix and seep in. Finally, he was ready.

The black and white mech knelt and carefully dug a shallow hole with his bare servos, lifting out a delicate pink crystal from the box. With a hum and flutter of his wings, he snapped the end off and drop the small piece into the hole then covered it with the metal shavings again. Prowl smiled as he withdrew and data-pad from his subspace and made a quick notation on it.  
He repeated that, again and again until he stood up and dusted the metals from his servos and knee joints. He propped the data pad on a shelf as he came back inside and paused when his servo brushed against the stuffed toy he had set up there. Prowl stared at it, processor frozen for a split kilk, then gently gathered the tiny thing up.

Jazz had presented it with a laugh after the pair of them had gone to a children’s hospital and spent the day letting the sick humans crawl all over them. The other white and black mech told him that the little human’s had mailed them the bears as a thank you. Prowl hadn’t appreciated it at the time because Jazz had ruined the moment with a slight quip about his seeming frostiness toward them.

He brushed his thumb over the plush fur and a small smile broke over his face. Jazz was always good when it came to taking him out of his comfort zone, even if he was a jerk about it the next day. But visiting the children had been worth it. Their joy at meeting them made up for any discomfort he might have felt at the time.

His wings gave the barest flutter at the memory of the gentle smile that had crossed the Polyhexian’s faceplates as the children had scrambled over his lap that day.

Yes, some memories of his time as a ‘emotionless’ soldier were worth cherishing. He looked out across he garden and one panel gave a pleased flick. The future was also something to be cherished, he thought as he replaced the teddy bear on the shelf, carefully shifting it so it was more easily seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a very strong chapter, in my opinion, but it give some good insight into how different Prowl was as an officer and how he is as just another mech. Army Prowl would never display artwork where others could see it while civilian Prowl puts it everywhere.


	5. The First Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl instead challenged Jazz to grow his own crystal for his flute and the pair take the first step toward being something other than discontented former soldiers. This chapter was an extension of one of the sentence challenge prompts and because the one smutty chapter I wanted to put in it's place isn't cooperating with me right now.

    Incessant mutterings broke through Prowls’ unwavering concentration but the former tactician merely smiled before dipping his helm back down.  Carefully, white digits dropped a nugget of silver into a bath of energon and mercury, watching it bubble up and turn a pale blue.  The crystal cluster within the bath chimed delightfully as it absorbed the liquid and began to glow a soft blue color.  
    There was a discordant hum from the other side of the table and a clatter of tools hitting the floor as Prowl’s helm whipped up.  Jazz hissed in surprise, holding his servo up, the black plating there pocked and burned.  Sighing, Prowl stood up and moved around to the other mechs’ side to gently take his servos in his.  He examined the the burn, ignoring the way Jazz tensed then relaxed.  
      
    “I shall get you some burn gel.  Do not move that hand.”  He ordered, moving to the cupboard he had wisely hidden a first aid kit.  
    “Since when are ya a medic?”  
    “Since never.  I have rudimentary training now that has served me well as Chief Enforcer of New Praxus and babysitter of errant crystal workers.  We still do not have a medic here.”  He ignored Jazz’s petulant glare as he bent back over the burned servo.  
          
    Almost immediately, the battle computer began to note the changes in the mechs frame and started to categorize them.  
  
    The hands in his were far more slender now and he was able to pick up the the magnetic  pulse wires.  Jazz had obviously kept those or they might have been original to his frame.  Prowl’s optics traveled up the arms as he studiously massaged the burn gel in.  Thicker plating was gone, along with most of the weapon systems.  He trained optics couldn’t pick out the seams for the grappling hook.  The heavier shoulder plating were gone, still keeping with the rounded style his frame supported.  Prowl’s optics traveled up to the helm, noting it’s differences.  The sensor horns were different, more swept back instead of the thick stubby war time variations he had sported.  
      
    He was pulled from his musings when Jazz’s faceplates split into a sardonic smile and he cocked his helm.  
  
    “Yah just gonna sit there and stare at meh all day or are ya gonna do something we’d both enjoy?”  
  
    Prowl jerked back with a scowl and flushed derma plating, tossing the burn gel back into the pack with a little more force than necessary.  
    “Ah, don’ be like that, Prowler!  We were both likin’ tha.”  Jazz cooed.  
  
    “Next time, be more careful.  The sulfuric acid should be added a quarter at a time to allow the crystal to absorb each dose.  I won’t be there to patch your stupidity up.”  His voice was clipped as Prowl stood, moving back over to his side of the table with stiff wings.  
    Leaning his elbow joints on the table, Jazz watched the mech’s jerky motions.  He was too aware of the former saboteur studying him and it made him self conscious.  When he almost dropped the dropper of mercury for the third time, Prowl snarled and set it on the table with a small thud.  
    “What?”  He snapped.  
    “I’m sorry.”  Jazz answered.  
    Prowl froze.  In the sudden silence of the room, only the soft hum of the crystals and the barely discernible thrum of their systems was heard.  Jazz gave every impression of lifting an optic ridge at Prowl’s flabbergasted look and shrugged, turning away to gather his things.  He subspaced his tools and picked up his blackened tray last, standing.  The scrap of the chairs legs on the cement floor jolted Prowl to awareness but he rose to his peds too late.  
    Jazz may have stripped the bulk of his war-frame but he was still quick on his feet.  Prowl caught up to him at the door to his shop, stopping the other with a hand on his forearm.  
  
    Weapon systems surged and ebbed as both mechs pulled apart.  One step forward, two steps back, Prowl thought.  
  
    “Ah’m sorreh.”  Jazz said again, his accent very much in place.  “I didn’t mean tah push yah.  Ah know yah don’t want meh around and I appreciate yah helpin’ me with my project.  I won’t bother yah again.”  
    “Don’t be absurd, Jazz.  I didn’t say that I was stopping your lessons.  I merely meant that you will have to start over again.”  He paused and looked away.  “I do enjoy your company but I would appreciate it if you left off the innuendos.”  
  
    “Al’ight.  Ah can do that.”  The other said after a long moment.  The pair spent another long moment watching the other, looking for something…anything to explain what was going on between them.  
  
    By an unspoken accord, the pair moved back into the studio space.  Jazz went to clean out his tray and Prowl pulled out a new sample of crystals to grow.  Jazz examined the crystals in silence and picked up a light green colored one.  The musician however paused before setting it in the tray.  
    “Prowl?”  
    “Yes, Jazz?”  
    “Ya said that Ah would need a basic solution to grow the crystal in, righ’?”  
    “Yes.”  
    “Can Ah try something?”  
    “I thought that you were doing just that.”  
    “Funneh.  But Ah wanna try something else besides energon.  This way, ah don’t waste anymore.”  With that, the white and black mech ran from the room, an eagerness in his field.  Prowl followed at a more sedate pace but paused when Jazz leapt into the t-lane and raced away.  The black and white mech shook his head and wandered back in, sitting down and adding the next mixture into his own crystals.  
    All too soon, the familiar sound of Jazz’s engine filled the studio and Prowl waited, optic ridge climbing steadily when Jazz burst into the room and pulled out a clear bottle.  
  
    He unscrewed the cap and bumped the liquid into the tray, adding the crystal.  Prowl sat back as the scent floated up to him, triggering a memory…of Earth.  
    “Moonshine.”  He blurted.  “You want to grow your crystal in…moonshine.”  
    “Not exactly ‘moonshine, but close enough.  Simple hydrocarbon, righ’?  See, I was payin’ attention.”  He sniggered.  
    Prowl shook his helm and bent over his own work, a small smile spreading across his face plates as Jazz added his first dose of chemicals to his tray, his speakers extending from his hips to play soft music.  The musician smothered his crow of delight when the concoction didn’t blow up in his faceplates then went back to his work.  An quiet peace settle over the pair until the star began to set.  Jazz placed his tools away carefully and put his tray into this shelf.  
    He stood and moved toward the shop space where Prowl was taking everything down and folding the coverings.  
    “You outta come down tah Ener-mix sometime.  Dey don’ always have loud music nights.”  He said casually, leaning agains the doorframe to watch the other drag inside a display.  
    “Oh?  What else do they play?”  Prowl asked, just as casually.  
  
    Understanding swirled between the pair and neither wanted to break it.  
  
    “Dey got some karaoke nights, some soft music nights for the older mechs, some loud stuff for da kids on some nights but dey also do reading’, poetry and stuff.”  He shrugged, spark in his throat as Prowl finally turned to look at him.  
    “Poetry?”  
    “An’ other stuff.”  Prowl moved to his side and they both stood there, neither truly looking at the other.  
    “Perhaps I should attend one of the less…rowdy nights.  I think I would enjoy the poetry or calmer music nights.  Can you ping me with a date on the next one?”  
    “Sure thing, Prowler.”  
    “Would you be so kind as to attend it with me?”  
    “Sure, Prowler, sure.  Be happy ta.”  Jazz’s smile could have been confident if not for the little quiver that matched Prowl’s.  
    “Be seein’ yah.”  He said, quickly, dancing into the t-lane and taking off.  
  
    Prowl watched him go, sparking slowly calming.  He finished locking up and didn’t bother to stifle the quick motions his wings made.  Once inside his living space, he sat down and stared at the ground for a long moment.  
    That had been a hard question to ask, he realized.  One he hadn’t been prepared to make when he onlined this morning.  
  
    To make this work, he would have to plan well and carefully, he decided.  Prowl realized how badly he wanted this friendship and quickly shuffled a portion of his processor toward analyzing everything he knew about Jazz the professional soldier and Jazz the professional civilian.  It would be hard, delicate work and not unlike growing a crystal but Prowl was determined to make this work.  
  
    With his processor now at ease, the black and white Praxian leaned back in his seat and picked up his book file, a little smile spreading across his face.  As he read, he tagged a note in his battle computer to shunt some data about how long it would take to move their relationship just a bit further then settled into his story just as the hero escaped his enemies with the treasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jazz and Prowl are both losing some of their war-mods by this point but Jazz is more noticeable. Ener-mix is the name of the local hang-out that does a bit of everything. It is the one place everyone can go to and get a mix of everything they want; plays, music, dancing, drinks, poetry, readings, you name it.


	6. Condense a life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short one this time, from the sentence challenge I'm using but expanding the sentence to a paragraph or chapter length. If I make this a chapter story, I plan on making this part much longer. Delving into Prowls' adjustment from military structured functioning to civilian life interests me. I believe he would actually adjust better than Jazz.

    Digits tapped on the tabletop, optics skimming a data-pad full of notes.  A mere vorn ago, those notes consisted of battle reports and supply requests, tactical stats and triage memos.  Prowl reached over and grabbed a jar, tipping it’s contents into the tray to his right.  The crystal hummed, Prowl’s wings gave a twitch, and he set the jar back on the table, all without lifting his optics from his pad.  The mech picked up the stylus and made a small mark on the pad.

  
    Prowl then stood up and stretched, joints popping as he reached over his helm and wings quivering before he relaxed.  

  
    Once upon a time, he had control over thousands of mecha and relaxing for any reason was simply out of the question.  He once oversaw the mass of equipment meant for troops and facilities, data-pads covering his desk, and now he growing crystals.  Funny, he mused, how his functioning was now contained within a crystal garden and a shop, with a living space larger than his quarters had ever been.    
    He moved from his quiet workspace into the small storage closet he had put in a decacycle ago and perused it’s shelves; making a mental note of what shavings, chemicals, and minerals he needed.  He could condense everything down to a few things but he would rather not.  The former tactical officer had done enough skimping to last a lifetime.  
      
    The black and white mech made his way back into the workspace then went into the front area, taking a moment to put up the sign and pull down the overhang.  It was simple and crude but it worked and few mechs would consider stealing from him, former reputation not withstanding.  Prowl stepped into the t-lane and shifted into his vehicle form and pulled out into the lane.  
  
    The trip went quickly, a town of a hundred mecha didn’t make much of crowd even in the one shop in town, but Prowl was still grateful to get out of the push and heaved a sigh through his vents.  Even with his ‘condensed’ list, it was extensive…and expensive.  He didn’t care much about the amount or the price though.  The trip back was quick enough and Prowl was soon sitting in his bare patio area, sipping his energon and idly thinking about the patio deck he could add.  
  
    His data-pads could wait.  
  
    The garden had grown spectacularly in the few stellar cycles he had settled here.  The walls were patched up and now enclosed the space but he was already considering purchasing the two empty buildings on either side and knocking down some walls.  The Quartizite Crystal was already topping the wall along the back and the extra space would help it grow.  The Lace-wrap agate was creeping out of it’s container and he would have either trim it or move it.  
    Prowl’s servo moved over to the tray sitting on the low table and he shifted the crystals in the bath around.    
  
    There was a light knock and a “ ‘ello?”  from his store front.  He sighed and rose to his peds, taking the bath tray with him.  
  
    The black and white Praxian paused in the entrance to his shop, his wonderfully relaxed mood disappearing in a tidal wave of annoyance.  Prowl’s wings rose up even as his voice box remained steady.  
    “No.”  He stated just as the painfully familiar white and black mech turned, visor brightening in surprise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize. I realized after posting that last chapter that there were some errors in word switching in some of the last updates and I will probably edit them when I have time. Usually, I write one of these and leave it alone for a day to come back and edit. But some things slip by me. Short chapter, enjoy. Prepare for some smut in the next two updates.


	7. First Date?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Further delving into their relationship as they continue to live and work in the same city. Edited 9-21-15, I found a paragraph I had cut off and decided to rework it and put it back in.

  
    On rare nights, most of the older mecha in town converged in the the one place everyone could agree that was a safe zone.  Former Decepticons stayed on the far side of the building, closest to the bar and handled their own when one of them got a little too drunk.  The former Autobots stayed on the side with all the windows.  Prowl, however chose a seat in the far corner, near the exit, where he could watch everyone and where the owner could slip out and have a friendly chat if it was slow.    
    This night was no different.  The older mecha, now stripped of weapons and insignia, sat about and talked quietly while Thrash, the bartender, mixed up some specials and a couple of helpers set up the stage.  
    Prowl walked in, door wings flicking once in answer to various calls from both patrons and workers, and made his way to his favorite spot.  He pulled out a data pad, called his order to Thrasher, and promptly lost himself in his story.  
  
    He stayed like that for a joor as the place began to fill up.  One mecha took the stage and read off some well imagined poetry, and though Prowl listened intently, he still read his book.  Another mecha, a former Decepticon, read a passage from a novel from Earth and it was well received.  
    Prowl hadn’t been aware of Jazz slipping in and startled just a bit when his voice crooned out a simple song and his digits strummed the holo-guitar.  The enforcer set his pad down and took a sip of his energon, listening to the music for a moment.  The song was poignant and yet unrefined.  It needed a bit of work.  
    The silvery white mech, his crystal visor flashing, hopped off the stage to soft applause and made his way to Prowl’s table.  
  
    “Fancy seein’ ya here.”  He said, cheerfully.  
    “I am here on every Open Night.”  Prowl said with a raised optic ridge.  
    “This is the first time Ah’ve seen ya.”  Jazz snorted.  
    “You’ve been distracted by the performances but I have been here.”  
    “Uh-huh.”  Jazz slid into the seat across from the black and white.  
    “By all means, have a seat.”  Prowl raised his pad again.  
    “Yah come ta talent night and ya bring a book?”  Jazz thanked the server as she brought over his drink and took a sip, eyeing Prowl over the rim.  
    “I can still listen, Jazz.  Not everything requires me to watch an act as well.”  
    “Is polite.”  
    “You are lecturing me on manners?”  Here, Prowl tilted his pad down and shot Jazz a look that was somewhere between amused and condescending.  Jazz merely chuckled and waved the mild accusation away.    
    A small band took the stage next and Jazz twisted around in the booth to watch them.  Prowl set his data pad down as well but focused his attention on the Polyhexian.  He watched as the silvery mech laughed and waved to the mechs on stage and swayed with their music, he smiled when the other did, and clapped at the end.  
  
    A bold feeling swept through him and he stood as others did, offering his servo to the visored mech.  Stunned, Jazz regarded him for a long moment, then took his servo with a sardonic smiled.  
    “Ain’t yah just full of surprises, mech.”  He said quietly as he was lead to the dance floor.   
    “I am not sure what led you to believe I don’t know how to dance.  Merely because I do not engage in the activity often does not mean I don’t enjoy it.”  Prowl merely lead him through the steps with a small smile.  
    “Ah woulda thought yah were worried about yah reputation.”  Jazz spun out when Prowl directed him and the Enforcer waited until the mech was back in his arms before leaning close.  
    “My reputation would have survived.  Good partners are merely what I lacked.”  
  
    Jazz’s visor glittered in a way that let Prowl know he was appraising him and boldly let a servo slip down to the silvery mech’s waist.  Jazz allowed himself to be pulled, steadily, closer until the two mech’s frames were flush…or as close as, allowing to their respective designs.  
  
    The two former officers said little else as they danced around the floor.     
      
    The pair chuckled as Jazz unlocked the door to his studio and held the door open.  Prowl went in first with a nod of his helm and a quick look around.  Much had changed in the few orn Jazz had officially opened.  Art was up on the walls, instruments were in protective cases, and there were some small knick knacks sitting on rickety temporary tables.  Jazz led the way to the spiral stair case in the back and they talked about nothing as they went up.  Once up in the flat, Prowl sat down when invited as Jazz slipped into the tiny dispenser room.  Humans would have called it a kitchen but Jazz had never been much of a ‘cook’ so he just opened up the chilling unit and pulled two small cubes of ultra refined mid-grade.  
    When he came back, Prowl had already turned on the vid-unit and was smiling at a re-run of some Earth show.  The visored mech handed him the cube and sat down beside him.  They snarked back and forth about the story-line and characterizations.  Prowl was witty and cutting, making Jazz clutch his sides as he laughed.  He practically crawled into Prowl’s lap when the the Enforcer began to extrapolate and rattle off the story line, spoiling it for Jazz.  
  
    Both paused, the show forgotten as Jazz peeled his servo off of Prowl’s faceplates, visor shifting as emotions chased themselves in his optics.  Prowl stilled, staring up at the mech, calculating, and suddenly Jazz burst into motion.  He wrenched back, Prowl’s servo suddenly clutching his.  Off balance, Jazz fell to the floor with only a yelp, pulling Prowl off the couch as well.  
    Prowl’s wings flared for balance and he managed to catch himself from falling completely over Jazz.  Still, it was intimate and embarrassing…and completely cliched.  
  
    Prowl snorted.  Jazz threw his helm back and laughed.  
  
    Prowl leaned forward as Jazz stopped laughing, whatever witty retort he was going to say dying on his lip plates as Prowl kissed him.  
  
    It was brief, soft, and all together the sweetest kiss Jazz had ever received.  
  
    “Thank you.”  The Enforcer said as he pulled away, tugging Jazz up and back onto the couch with him, not letting go of his wrist.  The Enforcer was well aware that Jazz could have slit his throat cabling or his wrist if he had felt truly threatened.  
    “For wha’?”  Jazz stared, flustered, as Prowl settled back, encouraging Jazz to lean against him with a slight tug.  Jazz accepted the invitation, though his field was heavy with wariness.  
    “For trusting me.”  Prowl took a sip of the cube in his servo, the other firmly planted on one silvery white hip.  Prowl would rather cut off his own servo then startle Jazz again.  
    “You danced with me and let me into your home.  I will not break that trust.”  
  
    Jazz hummed in reply and relaxed against the other in small degrees.  Prowl knew this relationship would be an uphill battle.  Special Ops had rarely trusted anyone outside their group.  To be able to sit on a couch and hold the smaller mech was a victory Prowl would relish for some time.  Jazz would have to make the next move but for the moment, Prowl was content to have this small victory.  Their night passed in comfortable silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prowl is the bold in this story because he was come to the conclusion he knows what he wants. This edited chapter came out stronger now that I've gone through it. I feel it expresses the characters a bit more.


	8. Toys.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I picked up a NSFW challenge but I'm still working on this chapter. It sat for a month (or close to) on my hard-drive. It will probably have a second part. I figured I would expand a bit further on Prowl's skills and mindset.

  
    The early morning sol light glanced off the crystal point in Prowl’s servos, almost blinding him as it began to shift with the stars’ rising.  He filtered out the high light in his optics and continued to smooth the crystal in his servos with a bit of soft grit sand paper, gently blowing the fine dust away as it piled up.  There was a particular gleam in his optics that intelligent Autobots knew to be weary of.  However the former tactician merely hummed a tune beneath his breath and switched out his sheet of sandpaper for a polishing cloth.  The light cut across the polished crystal again as Prowl set down the cloth and picked up the slim copper tube laying in neat precision on the table.  
    He critically examined the tube with a practiced eye then slotted the crystal neatly in to the end of the tube.  Leaning back in his seat, mindful of his panels, the Praxian turned the point over an over.    
    It was a stylus, similar to the ones he once used for joors on end to write out reports.  This one, however, was far more intricately carved.  A practiced optic could make out the tiny inscriptions along it’s length.    
  
    Once, Praxians had bought such things only for their lovers.  A crystal point, tuned to spark frequency, able to give pleasure by simple vibrations.  To a Praxian, it could be better than physical stimulation.  To Jazz, it would be mind blowing.    
    Such a thing could also be dangerous, he mused and gently swiped the sandpaper over the crystal point again.  Only a few crystal workers in Praxus had ever had the license to carve such a thing.  Prowl had been one of four mechs who had completed his training before the war broke out.  He had even considered using it in interrogation but had deleted that thought line and buried all knowledge of the skill in his processor.    
  
    Spark play had been something Jazz and he had danced around.  Neither were sure they were ready to bare their sparks to one another.  Penetration was easier to handle as the physical required a synching of bodies.  Plug and play had been another hurdle the two had overcome and even then Prowl had redirected Jazz’s attention from areas he wasn’t ready to share…yet.  It had taken a vorn for the pair to over come those inhibitions and they had shattered all previous illusions they had had of the other.  
    Hidden beneath the shell of a special operations mech had been a bright creative processor and Prowl was determined to see it grow.  The white and black mech’s studio was doing well, mecha were finally getting past ‘surviving’ and slowly moving toward the ‘living’.  And they wanted something bright and beautiful to fill that void left by the war.  The Enforcer set down the sandpaper and picked up the polishing cloth again.  Jazz was holding himself back, balancing on a thin edge.  He believed this peace would all be taken away from him, that Starscream would do something irrevocably stupid and they would lose all of this.  Prowl once thought that as well and now his calculations were all pointing toward a very different end.  Amazingly enough, Starscream let people smarter than himself into his trusted circle and they were the ones guiding him toward intelligent decision making.    
  
    Prowl had a hand in that as well but no one needed to know that.  
  
    He was pretty sure Jazz suspected.  In fact, he was well aware that Jazz knew, he just wasn’t saying anything.  The black and white pair were familiar enough with each other that should Starscream do anything stupid, Jazz would put a dagger right through his spark.  Amusingly enough, most mecha were aware of this as well.  Only Starscream thought he was invulnerable.    
    Let him have his delusions, Prowl smiled.  
  
    Besides, he had more important things to worry about…like getting this point just right.  Prowl frowned and gently opened his spark plating, tapping the clear point against the outer shell of his spark plating and grinned as it chimed in a high clear tone, not unlike a bell.    
    The Enforcer set down his sand paper and leaned back in his seat, listening to the tone for a long moment.  Then he began to put it all away.    
      
    A very coy smile crossed Prowl’s faceplates.  If Jazz had been there, he would have run all the way back to Iacon.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to give Prowl a few more skills.


	9. Kiss Challenges Part One-Prowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I found a kiss challenge about 2 months ago but I don't know who wrote it. It was copied from various other sites apparently and I backtracked it as far as I could. I found it on a couples prompt page though, so 'thank you' to whoever wrote it.

Kiss Challenge-Prowl.  
  
Forehead-  Jazz was bent over his crystal bath, visor dim and he was muttering under his vents.  Prowl leaned over to check the solvents and felt the overwhelming urge to kiss the smaller mech.  Doorwings shot up and optics glittered as he gave in and placed a very soft kiss on Jazz’s smooth helm.    
  
Nose-  They danced as they did every Open Night, to the quiet amusement of everyone else in the room.  The pair traded insults and snark back and forth as Prowl led them though the steps of many dances, some even pre-dating Earth’s famed dance movies.  Prowl quipped that he was the Fred Astair to Jazz’s Ginger Rogers and the silvery white mech through his helm back and laughed.  When he focused back on the Enforcer to reply with a witty remark, Prowl leaned in with a delicate kiss to Jazz’s nose plate and grinned at the soft huff from the smaller mech’s vents.  
  
Cheek-  The Grand Opening of Jazz’s studio was a roaring success.  Everyone in New Praxus came…which was saying something for a population of one hundred.  The party spilled out into the streets and a few smart individuals had set up shades and brought out chairs and more energon goodies.  Jazz flitted around, showing off works of art and pieces of finely made instruments.  He played and sang and danced.  Prowl watched from his corner by the stairwell that led upstairs, both as a guard to Jazz’s privacy and to observe the mech himself.  He was proud of him, he realized.  Jazz had done well, relaxing into both his new function and relationships outside of the war.  When the silvery white mech passed, Prowl snagged his arm and drew him into the shadows, kissing his cheek.  Jazz looked up, startled, and Prowl smiled as the light behind the visor flickered up toward the stairwell then back down.  “Later.” Prowl promised with a chuckle.    
  
Eyelids-  Jazz never took off the visor…for any reason.  Prowl had been pondering that for a while now.  In fact, it was eating up processor space when he wasn’t devoting that space to his small town Enforcer duties or his crystals.  It was irritating, quiet the opposite, in fact.  It was intriguing.  So when he quiet plainly asked to see his optics after their not-date at Open Night, Jazz startled at the foot of the staircase and turned to stare at Prowl.  Even standing on the bottom step on put the mech up at optic level so when the visor clicked up into the helm, all Prowl could see were the softest, palest, optics he had ever come across.  They were colorless without being devoid of life, pale enough to remind Prowl of otherworldly spirits described by humans.  There was nothing to fear in those optics but there was a soft wariness that Prowl hated.  He took a risk in stepping closer and gently cupping that dark face in his servos.  The light in the optics shut off and Prowl brushed his lip plates gently across one, then the other.  Jazz switched them back on with a curious frown and Prowl merely said,  “Thank you.”  
  
Ear-  Music poured out of the room as Prowl opened the door, responding to the greetings from those he knew would offer them even if he couldn’t hear them.  With a smile and a nod, he made his way to his favorite table and slid into it with a sigh.  He had already turned off the sensors in them so that the music was far more pleasurable.  The set ended and the performers stepped off to applause as the next group set up and once more, music rippled through the air.  Jazz bounded to his side and slid into the seat next to him with a jaunty smile then went back to nodding his helm to the beat.  Prowl leaned close and placed a quick kiss on his audial right below his swept back horns and earned a yelp in return.  It wasn’t his fault Jazz turned up his sensitivity!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably gonna be about 3 pages of just Prowl's part. I went a little overboard and decided not to keep them at just one sentence.


	10. Said something you shouldn't, didn't you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An education in a life-time would be good...right about now.

  
    Of course he knew Jazz had door-wings.  It had been in his file when he had enlisted, his stat sheets in medical had mentioned them and Prowl had seen them once…just once.    
  
    So it surprised him to walk into Jazz’s studio, delivering the solid crystals for the chimes he had ordered and seen the former saboteur standing there with his back to him, staring at the painting leaning against the wall, two slender non-standard Praxian door-wings fluttering and flicking.  Prowl did stop and stare, letting the door slide from limp digits and shut with a clink.  Jazz paused and turned to look over his shoulder, visor dimming and brightening like a human would blink.  Then the silvery white mech gave him a smile and faced him fully, those slender door wings fading from view but only to flare, just once, over his helm.  Prowl pulled himself together long enough to make small talk with the musician then handed over the crystal chimes before he casually left.  Yes, casually because he did not run or flee or anything else so cowardly.    
    Nope, not him.  
    Never.  
  
    It took him four whole blocks to realize that he had indeed been running, flat out.  Not in fear but in embarrassment.  
  
    Mechs all over Cybertron admired a Praxians’ bumper.  There had been sonnets, songs, and plays written about such a piece of hardware and most Praxians were baffled by it.  Prowl’s own door-wings flicked as he came to a stop, fans hard at work to cool down his frame.  
    Praxian’s favored wings.  Any kind really but door-wings held a special place in their sparks.  The former Enforcer leaned against the wall and took deep breaths to further calm himself.    
    Did Jazz know he had been outrageously flirting with him?!  Flicks and flares and all gently fanning his door-wings like that would have been a blatant come-hither to a Praxian.  Anyone would have done it too.  Prowl wasn’t to pleased with himself to realize he would have as well.  
  
    So with the next delivery, Prowl steeled himself before he left his shop, taking his time and not even bothering to transform for a shorter drive.  This time, Jazz was talking with a customer when he arrived.  The mech was chatting idly with the visored mech as he neatly tucked the delicate flute in a case of soft mesh and organic wood, smiling at whatever the other mech said.  Prowls’ optics latched onto the door-wings twitching behind the former saboteur and he turned quickly, hiding a smile.    
    Jazz wasn’t annoyed with the chatty mech, he could never be annoyed with simple chatter, but he was a bit put out.  Before he knew it, Prowl was approaching the two mechs, passing the visored black and white but not before passing a servo along the inner most of the door-wing, smoothing both ragged nodes and static EM field.  Keeping his helm down, he placed the tray of long crystals he had grown for electro-violin bows on the counter by the register then made his way to the small wash room Jazz had installed some time ago.  
    “Thanks, come again.”  Jazz finally called, loud enough for Prowl to realize that was his cue to come back into the studio.  He answered Jazz’s quick grin with a nod of his helm though his lips quirked just slightly.  Jazz’s field was still rather warm from frustration and those wings of his flittered behind him.  Prowl hastily cleared his vocalizer.  
    “You looked like you needed a save.”  
    “Nice kid but he can chat like nobodies business.  Bluestreak ain’t got nothin’ tah him.”  Jazz laughed easily but moved stiffly to the counter.  A brow plate rose briefly before Prowl gave the other mech an honest smile.  
    “Mecha do like a good conversation now.  For so long, most have been silent out of necessity.”  He commented lightly as he moved to Jazz’s side, servo once again stroking along a different edge and the nodes it held there, further settling the other mech.  
  
    His smile deepened as the smaller mech sighed softly, leaning back into the gentle stroking.    
    “Still, ain’t the sayin’ ‘Silence is golden’,…”  Jazz trailed off, door-wings suddenly flaring and Prowl stepped back.  
    “Prowl, ya alright?”  Jazz asked as he turned, visor a soft blue.  Again Prowl cleared his vocalizer, staring at the far wall.    
    “Okay, Prowl what is it?”  Jazz huffed, planting servos on hip joints.  “You’ve been actin’ weird for days now.  Pits, every Praxian for 5 kliks has been fluffin’ at me then running the other way.”  He stopped, picking at an old scar on his chin as he eyed the former Enforcer through the diamond hard glass of his visor.  The awkward silence reigned for several seconds as Prowl shuffled his peds in embarrassment.  Jazz let it too, crossing his arms under his own bumper and almost giving into the temptation to tap his ped.  
    “You’re broadcasting.”  Prowl finally exploded, face plates flushing a deep blue.  
    “Say what?”  Jazz spat, thrusting out one hip joint, door-wings arching up behind him.  Prowl didn’t even bother to hide his soft groan and Jazz’s frown deepened.  
    “Your door-wings.  You’re broadcasting.”  He gasped.  “Everybody wants to jump your circuits.  It’s all your fault.  
  
    In hindsight he could have done it better.  In reality he spat it all out.  
  
    Jazz gaped.  Like a fish out of water.  In any other circumstance it would have been hilarious to see the normally glib mech so out of words he was speechless.  At this time, Prowl wanted to curl up and die.  Quietly and painlessly.    
  
    He propped his elbow joints on the counter and buried his helm in his servos.  Jazz sputtered for a second, making noises that sounded to Prowl like a cat floundering in water then his vocalizer screeched as it grounded to a halt.  
    “Whaoohnnoooo…”  Jazz clicked his glossa, fighting for composure before tossing a look over his shoulder at his own door-wings.  “So, I’ve been giving mechs a Praxian peep show?”  
    “I wouldn’t go that far.”  Prowl hummed.  “More like an invitation for a private party.”  He gestured to Jazz’s door-wings.  “Praxians use their door-wings much like Earth bird would to attract a mate.  You’re…well…telling everyone that you’re available.”    
    “Primus!”  Jazz finally burst out laughing, door-wings sagging down so far, Prowl almost gave into his coding to stroke them back up again.  
    “Damn you pervs, I’ve been givin’ a bit of strip-tease without the strippin’ and ain’t one of you called me out!”    
    “It’s rather obvious you weren’t raised Praxian.  No one wanted to make a scene.  Maybe.  Perhaps.”  Prowl’s own vocalizer ground to a halt and he shot his companion a brief look.  He shrugged helplessly.  Jazz hummed in his throat, clearly not impressed with Prowl’s less-than-clear explanation.  
    “My coder was half Praxian.”  Jazz said, flicking his door-wings.  “I got the wings but nothing else.  Found a engineer with a minor in mechanics that could help me fold them away.  Easier to get around Praxus actually.  Everyone took me for a tourist instead of a stupid local that didn’t know his own frame-type.”   He shrugged but Prowl could easily see the old pain buried deep.  
    “I’m sorry, even if it means nothing.  Perhaps the future will be much kinder to those who share multiple frame-types.”  Prowl said quietly, watching his friend.  “Praxus wasn’t very forgiving to half breeds.”  
    “Dey were frame elitists, almost as bad as Vosian Seekers.”  Jazz huffed.  
    “I wasn’t aware that you were raised in Praxus.”  
    “Ah didn’t say that.  Ah did live dere for a time but Ah didn’t say that.”  He moved behind the counter, opening the till to drawer out the credits for the order.  As he handed it to Prowl, the other black and white took the shanix without a word, slipping the money into sub space.   
  
    “Well, is the offer still open?”  The former tactician suddenly asked into the stillness.  
    “Wha…”  Jazz’s visor flashed a bright blue.  
  
    Prowl only grinned and gestured to the smaller white and black mech’s door-wings.  Jazz groaned and covered his face plates with a servo.  
  
    “What did ah say now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life can be a b**ch sometimes. Quit my old job, started a new one, welcomed one new life into the squad, and getting ready for another one. I have not forgotten this and plan to start some new stories. Thanks for your patience!


	11. Jealousy, thy name is...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going back in time.

    Animosity had slowly given way to indifference about half a vorn ago, Prowl realized one warm afternoon.  A pair of Seekers screamed over head and most of the veterans in the area cringed, plating puffing out as defensive protocols engaged.  When the two danced off into the clouds, armor gave a embarrassed ruffle and mechs went about their business.  Prowl watched the former saboteur amble up from under the shade of his shop front, a very light frown on his faceplates.    
    Jazz was half a joor late for his class.    
  
    Even if Prowl didn’t even have any plans, this was all sorts of unacceptable.  The white and black mech gave a cheery twinkle of his visor and a mockery of a salut as he skipped past the threshold, squeezing his way past an unmoving Prowl like he wasn’t even there.  
    Door wings shot up in a sharp ‘V’ and the Praxian followed after the other mech, his peds stomping a little harder than necessary.  
    “Sorreh ‘bout da time, dere.  Got tah chattin with a cute little mech at da shop.”  Jazz whistled a jaunty tune as he set his tray down on the battered table and began to arrange his tools, merrily chatting away about the mech.  
    Prowl tuned him out of habit, setting his own workspace up with practiced ease.  When he finished, Jazz made a little flourish with his hands Prowl remembered from the war.  It was a little motion that spoke of mischief and flirtation all at once and Prowl suddenly focused on what the mech was saying.  
    “So than we’re gonna be headin’ over tah da Bar on open mic night.  Be a nice first date, doncha think?”  
    “First date?”  
    “With Encore.  The carrier I’ve been talkin’ about.”  Jazz tilted his head just so and light slashed across his visor.  
  
    Prowl tipped one brow plate up and sat down.  He spent an inordinate amount of time selecting his first tool and carefully picked it up with a delicate touch.  
  
    “Ah, yes.  Your new paramour.  You seem to go through them rather quickly.”  
    “I like a fun partner and a good time.  What more do ya need in life.”  Jazz let the barb go, sitting down on the bench and hunching over his baby violet crystal.  
      
    Prowl watched him from the corner of his optic, processor working on a few choice things to say about Jazz’s habits and then stopped him.  It wasn’t any of his business anyway.  Still, it burned he to shrug casually and pass the jar of low strength acid when Jazz asked for it.  
    The pair settled into their routine, flippant questions were answered with off hand remarks barely disguised as insults.  
  
    There was a lot less of that recently so Prowl made it his duty to bring them up to speed.  
  
    “How young is this one?”  
    “Dunno but old enough to know what he wants.  Old enough ah wont get arrested by the po-po.”  He said with a wink.  
    “Whatever happened to Downshift?  Did you toss him away too?”  
    “Hey nao,”  Jazz laughed instead, “‘Shift got himself a spark-mate nao.  Just clicked and everything on his last trip ta Iacon.  I ain’t gonna stand in the way o’ that!”  
    “There seems to be a pattern with you.  All your lovers walk away from you.”  Prowl actually sniffed haughtily.  
  
    The pair froze and Jazz turned that diamond hard visor on him.  It glittered coldly even if the grin did’t droop one bit.  
    “We all move on, Prowl.  Downshift knew he had something good with the femme and I told him ta go afta’ her.  They’re happy and I’m happy for them.”  
      
    The tension shot up several degrees and Jazz turned more and more of his attention on Prowl instead, his grin slowly running off his faceplates.  In response, Prowl’s wing rose higher and higher.  
    Suddenly Jazz snorted, setting his tools down with a sharp clink.  
  
    “If ya were that jealous, ya coulda told me.  I’d make room for ya in my berth.”  The grin was suddenly back and this time it was razor sharp.  “Who knows, maybe a good overload or two would loosen ya up and knock that stick out your aft.”  
    “I don’t need a toss in the berth, Jazz”  Prowl set his own tools down, back going straight and wings making him tower over the smaller mech.  “I do not believe in assignations with casual acquaintances.”  
    “Small words dere, Prowler.  Was wrong with a casual frag?”  
    “Absolutely nothing.”  Prowl poured some gold dust into his crystal bath with a shaking servo.  “And thats precisely what it means.  Intimacy should be cherished.”  
    “Oh, romantic.”  Jazz said meanly.  “How’s that workin’ out for ya?”  
    “I am not having this discussion with you.”  
    “Then don’t take a swipe at ma personal life.”  said Jazz,  “I don’t do that same ta ya.”  
    “Don’t rub it in my face plates then.”  Prowl pouted.  
  
    “Holy Primus, you’re jealous!”  Jazz gasped.  
    “I am not!”  
  
    Prowl did not shriek.  Oh no, he did not!  
  
    Jazz sat back and laughed.  “What a merry pair, we are.”  Jazz chuckled as Prowl tipped some more powder into the bath.    
    “Look, Prowler, I won’t tell ya any more about ma dates if it bothers ya that much.”  
    “I am not jealous.”  
    “Sure, ya not.”  
    “Jazz?”  
    “Hmm?”  
    “I appreciate it.”    
    “Prowl?”  
    “Hmm?”  
    “You might wanna…”  
  
    Prowl’s tray exploded in a golden fluffy cloud.


	12. No, Bad Boy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is going right today.

    “Don’t you dare!”  
  
    The irate tone stopped Prowl dead in his tracks, the door hang uselessly open in still servos.  He looked left then right, cocking a brow plate when nothing unusual greeted him.  The black and white mech shifted the box in his hands to the other side, taking a step into the studio.   He cleared his vents, rocking back on his wheels as he came forward.  
    “Jazz?”  He called out, “I’m merely here to drop off your chimes.”  
    “Don’t even think about it, ya little bastard!”  A viscous voice snarled at him from deeper into the studio.  
      
    Door-wings shot up and Prowls’ brow furrowed in annoyance.  He had thought they had been doing rather well the last few decaorns, he mused as he came to the counter.  
    “Shall I just leave these here than or would you prefer that I return when you are being more civil?”  He asked, cooly.  
      
    “May Primus have mercy on your fuzzy little soul, cuz when I’m done wit’ ya, ya ain’t gonna be so cute no more!”  
  
    Fuzzy?  What in the pit?  Prowl gingerly pocked his helm around the case of bells and beheld one of the strangest sights he had ever seen the other in.  
  
    Jazz crouched down on all fours, perfectly poised on peds tips, knee pads, and long digits, slender door-wings arched high and flicking wildly.  His shoulders were tense with the strain and his bright blue visor was fixed on a…  
  
    Was that a turbo fox?!  An actual turbo fox and not one of Wheeljacks’ Jeffries Tubes scrubbing rabid monstrosities that exploded in purple goop every few feet?!  In their quarters?!!  Where they shouldn’t have been?!!!  Prowl reared back, door-wings going high and just wondered if he should leave Jazz alone in the aftermath.  
  
    The shiny little mechanoid was sitting rather daintily atop some pillows Jazz kept around for studio sessions, it’s bright little paws with their razor sharp claws making little furrows in the colorful fabric.  Between said paws was a delicate crystal photo-violin  bow, it’s shimmery surface scoured with teeth marks…speaking of which.  
    The creature in question flicked it’s long ears toward Jazz and turned it’s head to begin gnawing on the untouched end of the bow.  The white and black mech made a hissing noise, reminiscent of a cat.  
    “Ohh, you little bastard, when ah get my servos on you, ya gonna wish ya ain’t neva’ left ya den taday!”    
      
    Prowl didn’t know if laughing would be an appropriate response in this situation.  Clearly, the pesky creature had been giving Jazz the run around for quiet some time.  The entire studio was a mess.  Jazz was a mess!    
    Paint streaks crossed his painting, there was a scrap of canvas in his hip joint, dents and scratched covered most everything else.  Was that a paint brush hanging off his audial horn?  Crushed crystal dust clung to what ever Jazz had fallen in before, giving the mech the appearance of some Earthen fairy creature that had been dragged through the mud.    
    The creature growled in response and suddenly stood.  Jazz tensed in return but failed to anticipate the little critter.  He leapt for it and it leapt over him.  Jazz went helm first into the pillows and with a muffled roar, came out swinging.    
  
    The turbo fox pranced over to Prowl and spat the bow out at his peds, tucking his tail over his dainty paws and clearly waiting for some kind of cue.  Prowl very hastily bit the inside of his cheek plates.  
  
    “Oh thats right, give it ta him!”  Jazz slapped a servo on the ground, waving the other dramatically through the air to emphasis his point.    
  
    Prowl did not rush to assist him, understanding that the mechs’ pride was in tatters at the moment as the Jazz stood and inched closer, dusting himself off and muttering under his vocalizer.  The turbo fox gave him no further attention and as Jazz got within a few mech meters from it, twitched his delicate ears and sauntered out of the studio.  Prowl watched it go, idly noting the makers mark on it’s back and resolved himself to speak to Wheeljack later.  
    Prowl smothered his laugh, kneeling down to pick the half eaten bow up off the ground while Jazz bristled.  His visor gleamed white hot when Prowl stood up straight again, having taken the time to school his features into a passive flat look.  
    He couldn’t help whatever was devil was dancing in his optics, however, and set the box of chimes down on the counter, completely ignoring the lithe mech’s glare.  The mech was gonna have a fritz out in a second, he mused.  
    “I take it that was one of Wheeljacks’ newest pet inventions.”  He asked as he placed the gnawed bow prominently on top of the box.  
    “I’m gonna kill ‘em very slowly.”  Jazz’s armor fluffed and he eyed the bow like it was his own personal nemesis.  
          
    Prowl made a humming noise in his throat to bring the smaller mech’s attention back to him, reaching out to pluck the paint brush off his horn.  It had been bothering him so much!  Jazz ducked his helm enough to let him know he didn’t quiet like it but he did allow the black and white to remove the offensive object.  He slide the lid off the box, ignoring the curious mutterings of the mech beside him as he gazed at the chimes.    
    Jazz set down the cloth he had been using to wipe off the paint and leaned over the box, visor brightening.  They were flat and thin, about as long as his forearm from elbow pad to the tips of his digits.  Each one had a tiny hole drilled in the top.  The range of colors was small, pastel shades only, and the shimmer they had differed between each one.  Jazz carefully lifted each one out of the box and examined it before setting it back down with soft servos before picking up the next one.  
  
    “Hey, thanks, man.”  He said after the last one was carefully inspected and replaced.  “It means a lot ta me.”  He slid the lid back over them.  
    “You are welcome, Jazz.”  Prowl stepped away.  “I am always glad when my product meets my clients’ expectations.”  
    “I knew you’d say something like tha’.”  Jazz chuckled as he gingerly picked up the box and moved his workstation, idly swinging his hips a little more than necessary.  
    “I am curious though,”  Prowl cocked his helm approvingly, taking the time to admire the show, and watched the other set the box down on his work bench, servos plucking wires and tools.  
    “It was a rather…odd order.”  He paused.  “You were very specific.”  
    “Yeah, sorreh ‘bout that.  It was just somethin’ I remembered as a kid, ya know.”  Prowl took a moment to auto-translate the Earth word to ‘sparkling’.  “Ah just remembered this one shop had this chime in the corner and I remembered how it looked and how it sounded.”  The lithe mech spread out the crystals and picked up a little pot of bright gold paint and a tiny paint brush.  
    “It was so pretty and made the nicest sound but when it moved, oh, it was like Primus opening up the gates of the Well and just tapping those bars like he was playing a song.”    
  
    The whole time he was talking, Jazz’s hands moved about.  He twisted wire and threaded the crystals and dipped his brush into gold paint and clipped off ends until he lifted his creation.    
  
    It was a simple wind chime, painted with gold glyphs that shimmered in the light.    
  
    With a chuckle at Prowl’s unimpressed look, Jazz tapped the crystals together and Prowl suddenly understood.  The chiming was delicate and perfect, rising and falling as each different crystal chime clinked together to fill the air with different notes.  It was a pleasure to listen to and to watch as the gold paint refracted light around so it was a masterpiece of color, light, and sound.  
    “I see.”  He said, so quietly any body but Jazz wouldn’t have heard him.  Jazz just flicked his door-wings and smiled, visor pointed steadily at the chimes but Prowl was well aware it was trained on him.  
    The former Enforcer stepped out of Jazz’s way as the other mech moved past him, grabbing a step stool on his way over to the door of the studio.  He very carefully stepped up and now Prowl could see the hook Jazz had hung from the ceiling.  The silvery white mech adjusted the chimes just so then hopped off the stool.  When he swung open the door, the chimes set to dancing on the wind.    
    “Well, that turned out damn fine, ah think.”  Jazz chuckled as he stepped back to Prowls’ side.  
    “Indeed.  My talents are not inconsequential.”  Prowl gave Jazz a sideways look, complete with cocked brow plate and the smallest of smiles on his lips.  
    Jazz outright laughed.  “Now how ‘bout a little further assistance, officer?”  His vocals dropped to a purr and Prowl was now very much paying attention.  
    “What did you have in mind?”  
    “I could use a hand in clean up…”  
    “Hmm, I think not.”  A grin crossed Prowl’s faceplates as he pulled away.  “Peace officer business, I’m sure you understand.  I have a thing at the place, you know.”  Prowl continued to edge away, carefully stepping around the ruins of canvas, puddles of paint, piles of glitter, and various instruments that had tipped over.  
      
    Jazz’s smile turned positively wicked as he watched the other try to make his ‘escape’.  
  
    “Ah wasn’t talking ‘bout the shop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Prowl regrets it. No take-backs.


	13. The Devastation of the Pillows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You learn something new every day.

    The Devastation of the Pillows.  
  
  
    If there was one thing in the universe Prowl hoarded more than his crystals (and aside from a secret collection of image captures he would rather die than tell Jazz about) it was pillows.  
    Big ones, small ones.  Rectangular ones, square ones.  Squishy soft ones and ones that felt like one was resting their helms on a bit of clouds.  Fluffy ones and hard ones…well maybe not hard ones.  Just not as fluffy ones?  Yes, that worked perfectly.  
  
    The former tactician had turned the entire upstairs of his shop into his personal space complete with dispenser unit and entertaining area with a nice big couch perfectly positioned to accept quests.  Bookcases lined every wall with the exception of the ones where he hung his favorite pieces of art, both Jazz’s and Sunstreaker’s.  Every one of those books cases were artfully arranged with novel pads and sculptures, trinkets and mementos.  An image capture of the entire Ark crew waved cheerfully from a frame on a shelf all it’s own.  On another was a bit of something a curious sparkling had found and brought to his shop one day.  It all created and warm inviting atmosphere where his very small group of close friends could gather and enjoy an evening…if he so desired it.  
  
    His berth room, on the other servo, was squirreled away in a corner, hard to figure out and harder to get to.  
  
    Old habits did die hard.  
  
    Inside his berth room was another matter all together.  The space was much larger than the size of the building suggested, thanks to Grapple and Hoist and some modern engineering.  
    The berth itself was sunk into the floor, just a gel filled pad with a down comforter placed over it.  Large enough to fit three good sized mechs, it was one of Prowls’ few indulgences.  And every square inch of the place was completely covered in pillows.  The added fluffy blankets were a negligible addition since the pillows outnumbered them ten to one.  
    One of the best things to do was to come home and immediately fall into the comfort-zone and Prowl often indulged in it.  He would just fall in, face first and wriggle around, door wings flapping and making ridiculous squeaking sounds until he found just the right position, usually burrowed in with pillows and blankets mounded up on each side of him.  
  
    Recharge was easy to come by now and he would just sigh in bliss.  
  
    The Praxian was fairly certain that Jazz had him beat on security for his private rooms but he was still quiet willing to acknowledge that he had gone overboard with his security.  Alas, as previously quoted, old habits did die hard and he wasn’t about to start taking chances.  
    A small HAB Unit with a spare security system designed by Red Alert was bolted to the wall by his helm and he plugged in with relish even as a miniature Teletran automatically locked his doors.  It would bring him instantly out of recharge if some one breached his private rooms with the Teletran mini acting as both a security system and advance warning.  The trigger was at the door to the stair way, well hidden from even the most talented thieves.  It would alert the Enforcer squad and any other nearby allies as well as bring Prowl up out of recharge with exact coordinates.  
    His acid rifle was in a panel by his helm and above the HAB unit, a quick release mechanism allowing it to drop right into Prowl’s awaiting servo.  He hoped to never use it.  
  
    All in all, it was a fool-proof system, designed by Cybertrons’ finest.  Grapple, Hoist and Red Alert had been particularly proud of themselves after testing and installing and testing the damn things over and over for a full deca-cycle.  It worked beautifully, and made Prowl feel the safest he had felt in a very long time.   
  
    It still didn’t explain the unusual sight he woke up to on that particular morning.  
  
    Bwhomp.  Such a strange recharge flux.  Bwhomp.  Why was there a blue and pink cloud using his wing as a trampoline?  Bwhomp.  It squealed as it rose up and fell down.  Bwhomp.  Prowl watched it bemused.  It wasn’t a bad dream, just odd.  Bwhomp.  Could clouds bounce?  Why was it pink and blue?  Clouds couldn’t squeal, right?  Bwhomp.  Prowl glanced around.   The last time he had seem a sunset this nice was in Hawaii.  But he hadn’t been in the clouds when he had seen it so…Bwhomp.  
    There was something hitting his wing.  It didn’t hurt but…Bwhomp.  His processor was busy calculating how many millenia it would take to offline from this rather insulting method of attack when Bwhomp.    
    Seriously!?  Bwhomp.  
    Couldn’t everybody just die and leave him in peace!?  Bwhomp.  
    Okay, fine!  Just go back to recharge and dream of pelting the insulant slagger with acid!  
  
    Nothing.  The air stilled and Prowl realized he was holding his non-existent breath in anticipation.  
  
    Bwhomp.  
  
    He came out of recharge with a hiccup that could have been a burp and looked around blearily.  The sunlight from the Star Cybertron now orbited was too bright and too cheerful.  His favorite baby crystals were happy and smug in their containers.  The various bits of art he had picked up at Jazz’s studio seemed to swath him in bright bits of happiness.  Pillows everywhere?  Check.  Blankets covering everything other spare inch?  Check.  Bookcases lined with everything but reports?  Double check.  
  
    Oh yes, he was going right back into recharge.  His warm soft snuggly pillows were calling to him and he was not one to disappoint.  He chirped as he burrowed down into the super soft one in his arms, flapping his wings once and settling them back onto the big plushy silk ones he had bought on Earth just last decaorn.  As far as recharge fluxes went, this one had been tame, just a…  
  
    Bwhomp.  
  
    Prowl jerked in place, wings snapping straight up in the air and sending the bright blue pillow flying.  He slowly turned his helm and gaped at the mech next to him.  
  
    Jazz grinned unrepentantly from his cross-legged position (Prowl was really going ask him one day how he did that and if Ratchet ever checked the tensile strength of his cabling)and leaned his chin further into his cupped servo, letting the other fall into his lap.  
    “‘Morning Sleepin’ Beauty!”  He sang, “Time tah rise an’ shine!”  
    “Jazz.”  He muttered, vocalizer sleep heavy.  His optics were wide awake though and cycled to bring the smug bastard into focus.  
    “Well, well, ah gotta admit Prowlah, you sure got some fancy digs here!”  He laughed and flapped his servo at all his pillows.  “Yah been holdin’ out on me, making us spend all our time at mah place when we could have been canoodlin’ ‘ere.  Do ah need password for yar super-secret clubhouse or wha’?”  
    “Jazz.”  Prowl said simply, this time a bit stronger as his gaze narrowed into a sharp glare.  “Do I want to know how you got up here?”  
    “After all dis time, it still surprises yah?”  Jazz murmured, lifting a shoulder pad in a lazy shrug.  
    “It does not surprise me as much as it should have, Jazz.  This is not an infiltration assignment, these are my personal quarters and as such, only to be entered by invitation.”  
    “Then invite meh in?”  He said unrepentantly.    
    “Jazz.”  Prowl warned.  The white and black mech did something Prowl had never seen him do before and it startled him enough to snap his wings in the locked position and fully pay attention.  
  
    “Yah didn’t answer ya comm.  Ya didn’t answer ya door.  Ya didn’t answer meh when I called ya des over an’ over again.  I got worried.”  Jazz said, quietly, ducking his helm, hiding his visor from sight.  “Thought some one had come by and snuffed ya spark when ah wasn’t lookin’.”    
    “Didn’t like the feeling.  I am real sorreh I broke inta yah place an’ all but I aint sorreh about breakin’ in ta yar place.”  The emphasis was the key.  Prowl’s wings twitched again as his shoulder lifted in that lazy shrug.  Prowl watched as Jazz glanced everywhere but at him, vorns of familiarity telling him when Jazz was not looking at him.  It occurred to Prowl that his lover had been worried, worried enough to risk breaking the fragile trust between them to make sure he was alright.  That he had fallen back into his battle protocols, which he swore never to do again, and bypassed all his alarms to see for himself that Prowl was just fine.  He wondered how long Jazz had watched him recharge before assaulting him with a pillow and decided he didn’t care.  It was slightly unsettling but the good outweighed the bad.  Jazz had cared enough to come check on him.    
    It really was sweet, especially the nervous shifting and pouting faces the Polyhexian was making at everything but Prowl.  
  
    Prowl snorted, optics narrowing, and Jazz made a slight clicking noise with his glossa, staring at the ground now with his brow puckered.  Prowl could tell.  Prowl could always tell.  
  
    The smaller mech yelped when Prowl bopped him in the face plates with the same pale blue pillow he had been using to assault his door wings then snagged his wrist before he could right himself.  Prowl dragged mech and pillow into his warm nest then snuggled in, wrapping arms and legs and wings around with silvery white mech.  
    The former saboteur squeaked the entire time Prowl routed around, trying to find that perfect position again and finally settling in with a sigh, his chin propped up between Jazz’s horns.  Visor very bright, Jazz bemusedly watched those sensor panels fan through the air while the rest of the larger mech’s frame relaxed slowly against him, arms and legs tangling with his.  
    With a kick, the Praxian settled a blanket over their legs, muttering something about getting a bigger blanket next time and Jazz cleared his vocalizer.  
    “Prowl?”  He hesitated, suddenly very uncertain just what he was going to ask.  it wasn’t like he wanted him to stop!  
    “Just stop talking for a few hours.  I wanna snuggle.”  Prowl murmured against one audial horn.  
    “Nao aint that the sweetest thing ya ever did say tah meh.”  Jazz chuckled.  
  
    A softer chuckle escaped Jazz that turned into a grunt as he began to shift about, jabbing his elbow into Prowls’ side when the other mech grumbled at him.  
  
    The two mechs ended with Prowl mostly on top of Jazz, his wings gently shifting the in the air above them.  Jazz’s audial detected faint sensor waves coming off of them and hide a grin in the that same blue pillow.  Somehow the thing ended up under his helm.  
    Old habits died hard.  
    “Jazz?”  Prowls’ soft murmur broke the quiet of the morning.  
    “Hmm.”  The Polyhexian roused just enough to give a slight acknowledgement that he was still mostly awake.  
    “You have my permission.”  
    “Hmm?”  
    “The password is Snuggle.”  
    “Hmm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed something cute.


	14. Is that Normal?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two people who have no idea what they're doing get fed up with each other and drags everyone else into the middle of it.

   Prowl had that look on his faceplates.  Jazz had seen it for vorns, on and off duty, and even now it pulled him up short.  The Polyhexian’s optics brightened behind his visor while his hand fell off the wall, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft chime.  Other mechs in the bar turned to give him a greeting then went right back to their conversations.    
    The former Autobots, however, gave him that pitiable look, the one Jazz always received when he walked right into the middle of the shit storm.  They stayed as far away from the table Prowl had confiscated as the room allowed.  Even if it brought them near a former Decepticon.    
    In fact, they all seemed a bit chummy.  Jazz gaped at a minibot sitting with a tank former, sharing a drink together.  
    And trying to look like their lives didn’t depend on him finding out what was wrong with their resident former Enforcer and ex-Autobot tactician.  
    Bright optics, in a rainbows of colors, gleefully watched as Jazz skittered along the far wall, visor focused on the lone mech seated at his table.  There was a single empty chair placed at the table, tilted at just the perfect angle to be both welcoming and threatening.    
  
    It invited one to take a seat at their own peril and it was obvious it was waiting for someone to sit down.   
  
    Prowl himself was neatly washed and polished to a startling degree of perfection, the likes of which Jazz hadn’t seen since his promotion ceremony in Praxus, an age ago.  He was sitting with his helm inclined slightly, both arms braced on the table with the digits of both servos laced in front of his face-plates, making it impossible to see his expression.  His wings were notched at that neat angle to give him as much information as possible from surrounding sensor waves.  His back, while straight, was at a relaxed degree and his ankle joints were neatly crossed.  Those golden optics of his were dimmed and focused on the half filled cube in front of him.  
    Jazz was now almost in front of him, still surrounded by the shadows and made a rapid mental calculation to access whether or not he could jump through the window to safety before shit hit the fan.  
  
    The sadists in the room were now watching him openly with an unholy glee.  
  
    “Jazz, how good of you to join me.”    
  
    Scrap, Prowl was now looking straight at him, his helm barely turned a degree.  It was enough to burn golden holes through him and Jazz stepped forward meekly, swallowing his damaged pride with a wide, but lopsided grin.  
    “Heya Prowl, gotcher message and everything and here ah am!”    
  
    He yanked the chair back with slightly more force than necessary, twirled with one digit for dramatic effect and slumped into it like a deflated balloon, backward.  
  
    Prowl didn’t say a word, his golden optics flaring brightly.  The silence lengthened even as the Tinder swiftly approached with a cube of sweet mid grade and then retreated to the safety of his bar, face-plates twisted into a lewd grin.  
    The Jazz Man did not squirm, oh no he didn’t!  Oh yes he did.  There was a reason Starscream stayed away from Prowl these days.  His brief association with physical violence had passed and now everyone from every faction gave the Praxian a healthy amount of respect.    
    Jazz was still the only fool to test that and now the whole small city was gonna see just how far that patience went.  
    “Yes indeed.  Hear you are.”  Was the mech’s very quiet reply.  Bots on all side strained to hear and some were even perched on the edge of their seats.  The Con tank former was balanced to precariously on edge that any second now, he was gonna fall.  
      
    Prowl still hadn’t moved his servos from in front of his face-plates.  
  
    “I wanted to speak to you about a very serious matter, Jazz.”  
    “Oh?”  Oh, Jazz shifted, please don’t tell me you’ve found the packing peanuts, that was supposed to be for the orn after tomorrow.  
    “While your pranks and sleight of hand have been amusing at best,”  Damn he did find the peanuts, “I really must insist that this ridiculous charade end.”  
    “Well nao, Prowler, I…”  
    “Let me finish…”  Jazz shut his vocalizer off with a harsh squeal that got a raised optic ridge in response.  
    “I have been flattered, amused, and irritated beyond all measure.  You’ve surprised me and surpassed my wildest expectations on both your creativity, ingenuity, and immaturity.  I’ve been tickled, amused, and battered by your attempts to gain my attention.”  He paused.  
    “I am not as oblivious as most mechs would like to believe.  My attention is gained, Poly.  You have used everything at your disposal to take it and I have returned the favor on every possible account.”  
  
    His servos dropped from in front of his face-plates and Jazz stifled his squeal of fear as those blazing optics pinned him.  The very angry mech leaned forward.  
  
    “When are you gonna grow the ball bearings to ask me out like a normal mech?!”  
  
    In the silence that followed, he had leaned back and was now folding his servos on the table in front of him.  The ‘You-Are-In-Deep-Shit-Look patented by the Praxian on Earth to deal with errant twins when patience eluded him glued Jazz to his seat.  Hissing whispers and greedy optics watched the events as though it were the best soap opera ever recorded unfolded in front of them.  Jazz’s lip plates opened and dropped, fighting to say something, anything at this point because Prowl was now decidedly un-amused.  
    He even went so far as to tap a digit on the table top, which was enough to snap Jazz out of his stupor.  Visor blazing white hot blue, he stood and kicked the chair out of his way.  He planted his servos on the table with a resounding thud that silenced the room.  
    “Shove it Prowl, why do ah gotta do all the hard work?!  Why aintcha askin’ me out?!”  He leaned forward and got in the Praxians' face.  Cool gold optics narrowed as hot blue stared into them.  
    “Ya so smart, ya figured out what ah was doing, huh?  Why didn’t chu put two an two together, hmm?”  
  
    Silence fell again.  It was broken by a soft hum.  
      
    “Hmm, yes, that was rather remiss of me, wasn’t it?”  Prowl made a soft sound.  “Very well, if you wish me to take the initiative..”  He reached out and grabbed the other mech by the horns.  “I do wish you would do me the honor of joining me at my home for a date next orn.”  
  
    He soundly kissed the mech on the lip plates, hard enough to make an impression but not enough to hurt.  It was all warm and soft and left very little doubt in a thoroughly delighted Jazz that kissing was not the only thing Prowl could do with that single minded attentiveness he was known for.  
    Jazz went very weak in the knee joints and by the time they parted, he was more than a little dazed.  
  
    “I shall take that as a yes.  Unless you have any objections?”  
    “The only objection ah have is why ain’t chu kissing me some more, fragger.”  Jazz snarled.  
    “I aim to please.”  Prowl kissed him senseless in front of crowd of very rowdy, very happy, very relieved mecha who began to happily yell at them to get a room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been wanting to write something with Prowl not being as dense as some people have written him. Still, they both are idiots for not just getting to the point of it all. Jazz's flip side of the coin will be next, I think.


	15. Brief Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intermission.

  
  
    This is a short break to take the time to thank everybody for reading this story.  I am sorry that I let all the comments pile up so I thought I would take a moment to thank and answer everybody who commented.  
  
  
Lauren king- Thank you!  Giving the pair of them quirks and slightly different personalities has made writing fun.  
  
InMoNochrome- Thanks!  I love reading your stories and your art as well so thank you for reading mine.  Prowl being a heavy sleeper now that he doesn’t have to run an army made him a bit more real in my mind.    
  
SoDoLaFaMiDoRe-  I’ll try to keep them entertaining enough for everyone to enjoy.  Thank you!  
  
Alana-Thank you for all your comments!  
  
Screamingprimal-  By far one of my favorite chapter to write.  Something normal about wanting to sleep in and spend the day in bed.  Thanks.  
  
Naria_Prime- Speaking only for myself, I know I would.  And others seem to agree that Prowl has got it made with that room.  Thank you.  
  
QTHorror- Thank you so much!  They are very fun to write.    
  
  
  
    Next chapter to be up in just a little bit.  I’m going to finish editing and re-reading it.  Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for next drabble...


	16. Time to test your patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A true test of compatibility.

Time to test your patience.  
  
      
    He woke up with it.  A pounding helm ache, wheezing in his vents, and a strut deep soreness he hadn’t experienced since the war.  He huffed a moan, which deepened into a racking cough and kicked off the stifling covers from his berth.  It felt too heavy and uncomfortable, like he was being choked to deactivation.  The mech stumbled to the wash racks and turned it on, not too hot to burn and not too cold to freeze but somewhere in between to just get rid of this damn virus!  Solvent hit his plating and it felt like thousands of miniature fists pounding on his lightweight armor.  Even the cotton towel, imported from Earth, felt like heavy grit sand paper scrapping off layers of black and white paint.  
    The energon was heavy and tasteless and it hurt to swallow.  He set the remainder of his cube back into the chill unit and tried to get himself downstairs.  He did it, but he stumbled every other step so it felt like victory when he reached the bottom without ending kissing the floor.  
    His vision was flickering in and out, unseeing the space he called his work place, only focusing on getting through the damn orn when his cotton filled audials picked up an unusual hum.  Pressure built as he turned his helm, noticing a shadow where there shouldn’t be one.  
  
    Sick he may be, but he knew his property and that wasn’t supposed to be there.  
  
    A cool servo slipped under his helm and briefly pressed to burning hot proto-flesh.  Another servo gently grasped his own servo and then there was more dulled noise.  It was speech, he just didn’t understand the words.  A soft, whisper weight groan slipped his vocalizer before he could stop it and then the shadow figure shifted, tugging him away from the bright light of his shop, away from the outside noise that was grating on audials and processor.  
    He was back upstairs, trying to get down again to finish his work but then there was a hand on his shoulder pad.  His struggles where kitten weak and it might as well have been a Combiner team sitting on him for all the damage his weak claws did.  A very light chuckle interrupted him and he glared as his ‘helper’ moved to open and window but keep the drapes closed.    
    A cool breeze drifted in and caressed hot plating.  He sighed as the other moved about his apartment, stripping the berth of his tangle of blankets and then throwing a new cooling blanket over it.  
      His cube was once again pressed into his servos and he eyed it’s new color, struggling to associate it.  Medicine?  Right?    
      
    It was because it tasted awful.  
  
    The other kept a firm servo on his and kept tipping the cube until he finished it all.  It didn’t hurt so bad this time and though he was grateful, he wasn’t all too pleased to be so numb.  Numbness dulled his reflexes and he sure didn’t like that.  
    A cool cloth brushed his forehead and he blinked static filled vision, wondering when he had laid down.  A murmur drew his attention and his optics fastened on a blurry face-plate above him.    
    The other smiled gently when he pushed his servo away with a pouting frown.  He gently slapped the offending servo away and placed the cloth back down.  His field was rich with amusement as he tucked the servo under the cooling blanket then reached for a book pad that had been perched on the edge of the night stand for some time.  
    A flick of the digit tip turned it on and the amusement in his field deepened.  Frowning through the haze of virus induced stupor, he realized that the gentle murmur was the other actually reading out loud.  
     _I don’t need a babysitter_.  He tried to say.  It felt like his intake was on fire.    
  
    The other simply swept a servo down cheek-plate and neck cables.  
  
     _I got to work.  Orders_ …  He struggled to rise, the other mech neatly pushed him right back down.  He quieted and tried to focus on getting better if only to give the mech a piece of his processor but the cool, the quiet, and the mech’s gentle voice lulled him into recharge before he knew it.  
  
      
    Prowl paused in his reading, his sensors telling him that Jazz was now deep in healing recharge.  He raised his helm and leaned forward, studying the stubborn mech for a long moment.  Setting the smutty book-file down for a moment, he tucked the blanket around the mech a little more then let out a quiet chuckle when the mech twisted in his recharge, ending up on his side facing Prowl instead.  The mech was just going to be stubborn, awake or not, he thought.  
    He patiently tucked the cooling blanket back around him then went back to his reading.    
  
    The former Enforcer was just getting up to get himself a cube and retrieve a new book file when a wheezing hiccup drew his attention back to his patient to find the sickly green visor fastened on him.  
    “Prowl?”  He rasped.  
    “Go back to recharge, Jazz.  You’ll feel better with sol-break.”  
    “Why are ya here?”  
    “You didn’t come to your class so I came to find you.  Only a stubborn mech like you would try to work through a virus.”  He gentle recrimination was met with an nasty sound snort.  
    “Look who’s talkin’.”  He quipped.  
    “Don’t you sass me, Jazz.  Right now, you can’t do anything.”  He sat back down with a warm smile to take the sting out of his words.  Jazz’s glare was cute but Prowl wasn’t foolish enough to say so.  “I could leave you here, all alone…with no one to get you your energon or read you books.”      
    “Ah dont need…”  He ended up with a wet hacking cough and flared his vents to compensate.  “Ya really wanna play nurse maid?”  The visor winked off as the last of his strength vanished.  
    “Go back to recharge, Jazz.”  He pulled the cooling blanket up.  “It is no trouble.”  
    “Prowler?”    
    “Yes, Jazz?”  
    “Thanks.”  
    “You’re not getting rid of me so easy, Jazz.”  He said softly, grinning as the other mech slipped further into unconsciousness.  The black and white mech briefly pressed a servo to warm cheek-plates again and went back to yet another smutty novel pad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my quickest chapters...and I am actually happy with it at the first go!


	17. Stay Whimsical.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Arlyn Pillay.

   Earth nights were so different.  At times they were so alive with living things; humans, nocturnal animals, whatever! Those nights were so full of sound and life.  Cybertron never had a Sun like Earth did.  It was sometimes sling past a star long enough for them to experience light and heat but they never remained around one long enough to have sunrises and sunsets.  They ever experienced the difference of night life and day life.  It was the change of day and night that so often startled the Cybertronians living on Earth.  The Vosians could always being seen standing on a ridge flexing their wings as the sun rose, feeling the cool night air slowly shift into a warmer morning breeze.  It reminded him that there was something to look forward to.  Something could be changed in their future that would bring back their home.  He reminded himself over and over that hope did have a purpose.  
    Humans didn’t stop when their light vanished.  They sang and danced and just continued living.  They pulled light into the darkness with each sunset.  
  
    Then there were nights like this.  Silent and dim.  Not a soul out, everyone tucked safely away in their homes.  It wasn’t eerie, it was like the world was holding it’s breath.  Like everyone was being silent in a place of worship.  Respectful, peaceful, maybe even a touch melancholy.    
  
    Jazz turned up the street, headlights slicing through the night.  He slowed, put on his blinker and turned into the little parking lot.  He eased his way around a pot hole on silent tires.  Headlights blinked off as he turned into a spot in front of a stretch of windows.  The shops all around were silent and dark except for this one.  A floor to ceiling partition of plywood nailed to some two-by-fours were just inside the door.  Hanging on them were a couple of prints of strange, ray gun wielding ogres and smartly dressed pandas.  A pair of mannequins with tiger masks as their heads displayed clothing with similar designs and brightly colored buttons.    
    The crowd inside were milling about the stage just behind the mannequins.  Further back, more people looked up and admired the paintings and sketches lining the walls.  Some people held articles of clothing and prints while others held a weeping friend.  
    Two young men stood at a glass case, speaking to some people who gathered around.  They wiped away tears, nodded, their smiles never quite reaching their eyes.  The murmurs stopped when another young man climbed the stage, tuned his guitar and paused to scrub his tears away.  He gathered himself and then poured out his heart into a melody Jazz didn’t recognize but felt.  Eyes glittering and heads bowed, people paused to watch and moved near the stage.  
    The quiet song ended and the young man climbed off the stage.  He was enfolded in a crowd of other sombre people.    
  
    Jazz waited until the humans moved toward the back of the shop and the lights dimmed.  Candles were lit and heads were bowed.  Some prayed, others sang softly, and still others leaned against their friends.  Jazz stayed where he was until the humans were all turned away then unfolded with a quiet whir of gears and cables and eased up under the awning.  He pulled from his subspace a glass candle, tiny in his servos, and gently placed it with other candles and a scattering of flowers under the glass of the shop front.  
    He very carefully reached into the mouth of the candle and flicked the ignitor he held so delicately, a sad smile crossing his face-plates as the wick caught and flared to life.  The visored mech eased the door open with a digit, just a tab, to listen to the gathered humans as they told stories of a young man whose life was cut so short.  He smiled and nodded, recognizing the character of the artist he had come to respect as his friends spoke of him.    
    “Rest ’n peace, mah man.  Ya brought beauty ’n light ’n color inta dis world.  Stay whimsical, mah friend.”  He whispered after a long moment, finally letting the door close without a sound.  
  
    The mech folded back down into his alt-mode with nary a whisper and eased into the dark mist, tilting his rear-view mirror to watch the golden glow of the candles and subdued color from the windows oh-so-slowly fade away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the hardest chapter I've ever written.


	18. Silence but louder.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nothing is said aloud but everything is louder in action. Prowl goes on a first date with a nice mech but some things are off limits. Jazz has to ruin everything. Or he has to play the hero...whatever. Prowl gives him a ticket anyway. They're a pair of sadists at this point.

  
    Prowl was not above breaking limbs.  Certainly not limbs belonging to handsy mecha that couldn’t take no for an answer.  A touch here, a touch there…nothing overt to be sure.  Just persistent.  The former officer didn’t mind touches either.  Primus only knew how many times Jazz had tapped his pauldron, poked his wing, or did something to grab his attention.  That was fine, acceptable, non-sexual touching.    
    Apparently, this mech had taken a page out of Jazz’s playbook and was now re-writing the whole damn thing.  The touch to his arm strut had become a lingering hold on the handle on his door wing or a gently rub that tried to slide up under his armor to his more sensitive circuitry.    
    How many times had he politely shrugged him off and told him that was off limits for a first date?  He had lost count.  
  
    He was very attentive though, suggesting one of the few places to eat that was appropriate for a date, holding out his chair, letting him order first.  Prowl could get used to the attention.  He smiled warmly.    
  
    Another brush of a servo, near the hinge.  Another flick and another dark look.  
  
    An easy grin, too much like Jazz’s, and then he backed off.  Sharp Turn was a good looking mech when he smiled like that, Prowl admitted grudgingly.  And he was a good mech, polite, honest, attentive…just handsy.  
  
    That servo was creeping up again and this time, Prowl blocked it neatly with his arm.  Polite small talk was initiated and it seemed to keep his attention for a few kilks.  Maybe he would give this one another chance.    
    The pair turned the corner heading for the stairs between two buildings that led to the street, sharing a laugh, and the blue mech’s servo drifted up, this time making contact with his door hinge.  Prowl froze, a squeal dying on his lip plates.  The other mech leaned in for a kiss  
      
    Too soon!  He wanted to say.  
      
    A pot bearing a rather sickly looking talite crystal shattered on his helm.  Prowl actually jerked back surprised as pottery and metal shavings exploded in his faceplates.  He took a step back, away from the dumbstruck mech.  The black and white bit his lip plates to keep in his laughter as Sharp Turn’s optics rolled up and he slumped to the ground with woozy groan.      
  
    Staring down at the mech, Prowl realized he felt relieved and not in the least bit frantic to check up on him.  He had been a little handsy.  A scuff drew his attention up and over his shoulder.  Jazz leaned on the railing above his helm, easy-as-you-please, looking down lazily.  
    -Trouble-  His doorwings flicked, amused.  
    -I was handling it.-  Prowls’ posture and expression said, though his wings bounced merrily.  
    -When?  The third or the thirteenth time?-  Jazz’s wings were a bit shaky but getting clearer.  Laughing.    
    -How long have you been following us?!-  Prowls’ wings shot straight up and quivered.    
    -Long enough to enjoy watching you get twitchy.-  The silvery white Polyhexian leaned his chin on his palm and fluttered his wings, ignoring Prowl’s slowly darkening expression over his flippancy.  
    -Stay right where you are.-  Prowl placed his ped on the bottom step.  
    -What are you doing?-  At least he was getting the smaller mech’s full attention.  He pursed his lip plates, his wings now held perfectly still.  
    -Assault on peaceful citizen.  Breaking of private property.-   Prowl’s police lights flashed, just once, and his siren let out a whup.  
    -SERIOUSLY?!-  Jazz suddenly crouched, wings quivering, his visor bright with indignation.  
    -Don’t you dare!-  Prowl’s engine revved as Jazz whirled around, squealing.  By the time, he made it to the top of the stairs, Jazz was folding down in to his alt mode and peeling out of the T-Lane.  
    Prowl followed, lights and sirens now blaring.  
  
    He wasn’t going to really give the other a ticket for assault and destruction of property.  Maybe a speeding ticket though.  
  
    Sharp Turn was forgotten, optics spiraling to track imaginary cyro-canarys.  A few mecha who were loitering about to watch their favorite home-town drama began to turn back to their business.    
  
    He had been rather handsy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hesitated posting this. Sharp Turn never struck me as a 'bad guy' and I hope I made the distinction clear.


	19. Not a good lesson...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Praxians really need to teach Jazz about wing-cant. No, really...

    It was a quiet off cycle, calm and still.  A few mecha were out on pleasant walks or a slow cruise together before turning in for the night.  In Prowl’s little shop, bright light spilled out of the windows with soft music playing through the air.  The door had been propped open with a piece of rubble and there were benches and a few tables in the front shop area.  Familiar face plates sat around with glasses of glowing energon and a few cy-gars.  Inside, it was clearly a party that spilled out into the garden area as well.    
    Prowl was perfectly content with it.  It wasn’t the wild parties he had once been expected to break up back on the ARK.  No one was here to pretend the war didn’t exist and to drink themselves into passing out so the nightmares wouldn’t keep them up all night.  
    Sideswipe was there anyway, a tin drum of his home brew on a table with two mis-matched legs in one corner.  Blaster was playing some music using his own systems, low enough to sit on the couch and have a pleasant conversation with a femme he could swear was Lancer. Someone had dragged in an extra table from somewhere and there were goodies over it’s entire length.  
    Picking up a plate and piling it with a few of the treats, he eased passed a boisterous Windcharger and stepped out into the warm night air.  Wheeljack was talking with a mech he didn’t know and so he approached Bluestreak, sitting on one of the chairs Prowl had set up to watch over his garden.  The former sniper was chuckling at whatever his mate was saying but he perked up as Prowl dropped into the seat beside his.  
    “Hiya Prowl!”  He chirped.    
    “Bluestreak.”  He greeted.  “How are things going in Axiom Nexus?”  
    “Good, I guess.  Most of it goes right over my head but at least he’s enjoying himself.”  He shrugged with a grin.  “I got a job as a part time officer in the peace corp but I spend most of my time between the university, teaching economics classes, or on the video meetings advising Starscream.”        
    “Ah, I see Starscream is working swiftly to get the economy going.”  
    “It’s a bit more complicated than that but yeah…it’s a work in progress.”  
      
    A shrill scream had their sensor panels perking up and the two turned to look.  Jazz had an avid audience, their little faceplates watching in rapt attention as he sat there weaving his story.  
    “He’s good with the sparklings.”  The younger Praxian sat back in his chair, his expression passive.   
    “He is.”  Prowl agreed, taking a sip of his drink while ignoring the mischief that danced in his former subordinates optics.  Jazz was in the middle of the garden, perched on a pouf that had seen better days even though it was new.  His wings wiggled as he wove his story for his delighted audience.  His bright blue visor flashed in time with his servos, animatedly telling his rapt listeners a familiar human fable.    
    One little mech, a very bright blue with a trim of green, was perched with his back to the two onlookers, his tiny wings fluttering in the air.  They bounced and wiggled in time with Jazz’s motions.  Bluestreak snorted into his glass.  Prowl eased back into his seat, opening his mouth plates to make a bit of small talk when he almost spat his energon everywhere.  
  
    Jazz’s wings wove a intricate little pattern; dip, flutter up, dip, dip, flutter up.  And the little mechling copied him.  The tiny wings dropped like rocks in water and then they didn’t so much as flutter as flap shakily up.    
  
    A squeal like a rusted gate grinding close after centuries of being propped open made Prowl snap out of his horrified frozen state.  He whipped his helm around, disoriented.  The grey mech’s jaw moved like he was grinding his denta and his hot blue optics shot to Prowl’s in an instant.  
    “Prowl?”  He sounded like a demon crawling up from the depths of the Pits.  
    “Yes?”  Prowl squeaked, his wings dropping so low they suddenly were resting on his seat beside his aft.  
    “Be so kind as to tell me why Jazz is teaching my sparkling about fragging?!”  
    “Um…”  Prowl’s hyper advanced processor abandoned him in that instant, sending him for a short loop.  
    “If you say he doesn’t know what he’s doing cuz he isn’t Praxian, I will have your wings for wall ornaments.”


End file.
